To Look Twice PV Vivienne Thorne

Dialogue, Thoughts
IC date: September 1st
Location: King's Cross Station
Time: 10:30 AM
Mentioning: @Vivienne Thorne

Light poured in from the windows overhead, transforming a pair of distraught eyes into golden suns.

The boy was oddly young to be wandering King's Cross Station alone, yet old enough for crowds to scurry by without looking twice. He was quite tall for his age, lugging a trunk in one hand and clutching an apple in the other. The trunk blended in perfectly with the sea of suitcases carried by important businesspeople, who were always rushing somewhere important.

Fifteen minutes earlier, Atlas had gotten off the bus with no idea where King's Cross Station could be. The carefully written instructions he'd received for accessing Platform 9¾ did not include a map of London, and he had never been to London anyway. Mrs. Woodrow must be really desperate to get rid of him.

It was a woman named Tara Stevenson who came to his rescue. The aunt who'd been mentioned a total of two times his entire life. She was an interesting individual, beaming an eccentric, nose-scrunched smile as she met her mysterious nephew. Curly shoulder-length blonde hair bobbed as she strutted down the roadside pavements. She wore a fuzzy green sweater with red and glittered stripes- precisely the epitome of an ugly Christmas sweater. Flared jeans and red heels covered her lower body, bedecked with a shiny black belt and ankle bracelets. This was the tacky woman who drove Atlas to King's Cross Station. People often looked at her twice.

Then, she left, wishing him good luck at his "boarding school" in the same accent the self-absorbed girls at his school spoke in.

As the clickity-clack of his aunt's heels faded into the sounds of a busy train station, an unfamiliar loneliness settled in. Perhaps having his mother here wouldn't be so awful. The boy had no choice but to make his way to Platforms 9 and 10 and pray the stretch of brick wall was actually there. Occasionally, kids his age would be seen walking the same direction but disappeared too soon before Atlas could deem them wizard or muggle.

His jaw ached. An unsightly bruise had appeared on the edge of his face this morning; he had seen himself in the light reflection of the bus window. The apple he held was warm from hours of tight gripping but also bore a dent that fit perfectly with its holder's jawline. Mrs. Woodrow must have really been going mad.

Atlas finally reached the supposed entrance to Platform 9¾. A trashcan nearby caught his attention, which prompted him to toss that stupid apple in without a second thought. It was better no one saw it, lest anyone make the assumption he was clumsy enough to crash his lower face into an apple. The bruise was awful enough on its own. If there was one thing he'd noticed about Wizarding families, it was that their faces, elbows, and knees were clean of any injury. There must be some kind of healing spell or potion.

Speaking of Wizarding families, he wondered if he'd see Vivienne again...

Word Count: 505